


Fraction

by thirtypercent



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Awkward Romance, Ficlet, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 01:54:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1180531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thirtypercent/pseuds/thirtypercent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The moment, in the end, is nearly identical to hundreds before it.</p><p>But perhaps the space between their feet is a fraction smaller than ever before, the night a fraction quieter, the air a fraction more charged.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fraction

The moment, in the end, is nearly identical to hundreds before it.

But this time, Sherlock laughs, just so, and his head tilts, just so, and his gaze catches John's, just so.

And perhaps the space between their feet is a fraction smaller than ever before, the night a fraction quieter, the air a fraction more charged.

And it may be bravery or it may be foolishness, but when John closes those last inches and slips his hand around the back of Sherlock's neck and presses their lips together, for a weightless moment he's in free-fall, caught between the buoyancy of hope and the fear of regret.

But then Sherlock's hands drop to his shoulders, and he kisses John back, lips warm and clumsy and eager, and relief is so sharp John can taste it on his tongue.

And at first he thought just a moment, just a test, but now he's caught, Sherlock's mouth warm and tentative against his, and so he's suspended, fingers tracing a careful path over Sherlock's jaw, his shoulderblades, the small of his back.

And when Sherlock makes a small broken sound against him, and John starts to wonder _too much, too much?_ and begins to draw away, only for Sherlock to follow his mouth, warm hands pressed to John's jaw, the momentum is set and they stumble through the sitting room, oblivious to the slow cascade of books and papers and experiments around them.

And when they trip and land in a heap of limbs on the sofa, and their teeth click and John tastes the blood of his own split lip, he doesn't pause and he doesn't care and he just pulls Sherlock closer, closer and he's dizzy with the heat of their bodies pressed together and Sherlock's tongue in his mouth.

And he had never quite understood the size of Sherlock's _hands_ before, by turns hovering with uncertainty, and pulling at John's shirt, his trousers and sliding up his back and feathering through his hair.

And now that they're finally here, there's no room to pause and so instead they fumble under damp clothing to find warm skin, pressing into each other as the rain patters against the window.

And when Sherlock comes it takes them both by surprise, his face pressed to John's neck and his arm wrapped around the small of John's back.

And John follows soon after, Sherlock's hand in his trousers and breath in his lungs.

And the room grows dark and cold around them, and John's shin throbs where it collided with the coffee table, and his left arm is numb and his neck has a crick.

But when his nose comes to rest in the sweaty curve of Sherlock's neck, and he breaths deep and Sherlock hums contentedly, a sharp surge of happiness winds his chest so tight he nearly can't breathe.

And it's perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> At first I was just going to post this to Tumblr, but decided to put it on AO3 after all. Thanks for reading. :)


End file.
